Brabham

You kind of get into this mindset,

when you’re in competition for so long

and you’re doing well...

There were times I’d catch myself and go,

“That’s not who I am.

You’re so like your father.”

There’d be something in the back saying,

“Is this really who you are?”

I’m standing now in the showroom of a car dealer,

at Greenacre in Sydney.

And I suppose it’s very much like any car dealer showroom.

Except for all these trophies behind me.

He is a man who, in his time, created history.

Now, he thinks he’s coming here tonight

for a sporting interview with his son.

And it’s right here that I’m going to surprise them.

We are here to honor, celebrate and give thanks

for the life of Sir John Arthur Brabham,

known as Jack.

In one way or another, Sir Jack’s life

has affected us all.

From those here who knew him personally

and called him Grandpa, or Dad, or husband...

to those here who shared a lifelong friendship with Jack,

to those of us here who knew him from a distance

and marveled at his many achievements.

But we’ll also hear about Sir Jack the man,

the husband, father and grandfather.

What made him tick. What was really important

to him.

Any of you boys been in a billy-cart derby before?

Yes!

Jack was like any boy of his age,

obsessed with billy-carts.

You could either have a steering wheel

or you could have a rope.

And what wheels you got, well, that was up to the gods.

What do you say, Noah?

It was a great race and the best man did win.

He left school at fifteen

to work as an apprentice in an engineer shop.

We happened to get bits and pieces

and improvised with them.

Cut and shuck and weld, and do all sorts of things.

Yeah, he was from an age

when you had a wide variety of skills.

The kind of industrial equivalent

of the hunter-gatherer.

You could see there was no doubt,

he was very earnest

and he was going to be a good engineer, good boy.

Even away in the little-known interior,

amongst the primitive natives,

there are townships where agents of Hitler

wait and plan for the downfall of a country

that has sheltered them and given them security.

The war interrupted Jack’s sleepy existence,

tinkering with bikes and cars.

Every young man of fighting age

finally had a reason for adventure.

...the cause of liberty and freedom.

War had started, of course,

when he was a teenager.

Jack entered the RAAF midway through the war.

He was a mechanic on RAAF Bowfighters,

called the "Whispering Death,"

because twin radial engines were so quiet

that they would come in low and then strafe the Japanese

before they even knew what was hitting them.

But Jack had missed out on becoming

a hero on the front line.

...the victim, Australia’s manhood.

He was part of a generation of young men

who needed some kind of arena to prove themselves

as worthy as the heroes who had returned home,

victorious in combat.

Eerie, isn’t it?

You know what this reminds me of? A theater.

An empty theater right now.

But it has its audience, its cast, its drama,

its comedy, and sometimes its tragedy too.

The spectacle here is a moving play

on an asphalt stage with all the props.

Producers and directors in the wings,

the music, extras, comedians, good guys and bad guys,

and the stars...

And it was on a road trip up north

that a friend took Jack to his first-ever Speedway.

What he would have seen was motorized chaos.

There were no roll-cages, seat belts.

The helmets were made of cork.

A lot of blokes didn’t even bother using goggles.

The driver died of severe head injuries.

Oh, Jack? Yes, the first time I met him

was, uh, in '48.

He, uh... was only a kid then

and he came up with the Speedway car.

Can you imagine driving down a dirt road

and then having to turn left into the corner

without hitting the brakes, but with your foot flat

to the floor at the same time?

Well, this is what Speedway drivers did.

I mean, all you can see now of a racing driver

is a little bit of the top of their head,

sort of slightly bobbing around.

In Speedway, it’s mechanicalized warfare

of the most purest kind.

It’s wild, it’s big.

And that was my biggest surprise on the first night,

was every other motor car was throwing dirt in my face.

My mum came from a very, sort of, basic background.

They met and Jack was racing in midgets.

The lady who watched, waited and worried,

your wife, Betty.

What was this bloke's name again?

Sorry, Jack, mate, I won’t let you down.

In the very early 1950s,

Jack took his Speedway racing car

to a local hill-climb.

In his little, titchy self-built Speedway car,

he blew them all into the weeds.

Hairpin bends at high speeds

call for steel wrists and iron nerves.

Sport is somewhere where drive, dedication,

bravery... that’s what we celebrate.

It’s a great course for the spectators too.

You know, someone who’s fucking brilliant at what they do

and we can cheer them on.

The organizers actually disqualified his car

because it wasn’t fitted with front wheel brakes...

Hold everything, he’s going over!

...and therefore didn’t qualify for their purposes.

Not this time.

So, Jack responded typically

by fitting front wheel brakes, taking it back there

and doing it again.

Oh, it’s a Brabham '67.

It’s a long while since I’ve seen one of these.

Ron Tauranac was racing

RALT open wheelers,

which he’d built with his brother

in their parent’s garage.

It was clear they saw something in each other.

Kindred spirits.

Well, he was a very good friend of mine and we got on very well.

I’ve never been a very social person either.

I realize it was a mistake now.

But I needed someone to train me.

Ron and Jack were, in some ways,

two peas in a pod.

Neither of them talked much

but they could just look at what each other were doing

- and say, “Wow.” - Ron designed the cars

and Dad tested them.

It was an incredible partnership.

Jack had his two-liter Cooper Bristol.

And he fitted a bigger engine

to give it more "oomph"

and he ended up corresponding with John and Charles Cooper

of the Cooper Car Company.

By the end of 1954,

Jack had experienced everything that Speedway

and Hill-Climb had to offer.

And while he may not have yet had his sights set

on challenging the European legends

of motorsport,

the hobbyist from Hurstville knew he’d be foolish

if he didn’t pursue his clear talent

behind the wheel.

And Jack realized that to progress

in the motor-racing world,

he really needed to be in Britain.

When he hears the booming tones of Big Ben,

no English-speaking visitor feels a real stranger in London.

The chimes from Westminster penetrate to the four corners

of the globe.

And Big Ben has become everyone's town clock.

When Jack first came to the UK in 1955,

he kissed his wife goodbye

and his child goodbye,

and found himself surrounded by, really, a fast-developing hotbed

of motor-racing development.

We, as loyal citizens, must also do our part.

British motor racing had been nowhere before the war.

Silence...

Conditions were so bad

that there were worse shortages here

than there had ever been at any time.

And a number of people just got so fed up

with this turgid, gray, post-war Britain...

...that effectively they said, “Oh, to hell with it.

Let’s go motor racing and have some fun.”

The British manner of going motor racing,

was to start building racing cars,

striving to surpass the dominant Ferrari

and Maserati.

En route to England, Jack made the pilgrimage

to Ferrari.

And they closed the door in his face.

He knew he probably appeared to them like a chancer